Going to a Barbados Wedding

by Jenna
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Going to a Barbados Wedding

It was the day of the wedding that we had travelled to Barbados for and I awoke to beautiful blue skies, warm buttery toast and a fucking rooster. The absolute cock liked to hang about under our bedroom window making its famous cock-el-doodle-doo noise on the hour every hour from 4am.

We spent the morning swimming and sunbathing by the pool but because we weren’t going to spend much time at the pool I didn’t put any lotion on my shoulders. Well I severely burnt my shoulders and they were ridiculously painful, “I definitely won’t be making that mistake again” I thought to myself. Life is nothing but a series of lessons…

The journey to the beach

Suz’s sister found love when she went to Barbados hence the reason why she chose to get married there. Like all weddings, they’re stressful and something somewhere won’t run smoothly; luckily for us the only thing that was wrong was that the taxi was late and the bride spent a nerve wracking 20 minutes calling and trying to direct them. I’m so glad I didn’t do my hair for the wedding because after a ridiculously bumpy, windy journey in the back of a minibus with all the windows open my hair looked ridiculous. Oh wait, no I did do my hair, but after that journey you’d never have known.

The wedding

barbados wedding

Like most things in Barbados the wedding was chilled, informal and lovely. The reception was held at the groom’s home and garden, which was a typical Bajan chattel constructed wooden hut with two rooms and a bathroom. The garden was large and covered in nature; mango trees, banana trees and a shit load of other trees (my knowledge of trees is limited, so shoot me).

Bajan people are lovely and friendly; they’re always dancing and are generally a nice race of people. HOWEVER, the phrases “please” and “thank you” do not appear in their vocabulary. Like at all. You could hand someone a plate of food that you’ve just cooked for them and they’ll just take the plate in silence, save their children from drowning, again silence. It’s strange for such friendly people to not say those words. I realise that as a southern English posh knob I say please and thank you a lot; in fact Suz’s dad told me to stop saying thank you so much. But he’s from Scotland so you expect that sort of rudeness from them…

Home time

During the wedding reception Suz felt really ill, mainly due to the suck-me-in pants she was wearing so we ordered a taxi home early. We waited at the top of the hilly  dirt track in the pitch black for a taxi that took 30 minutes to arrive. It was another crazy ride home and the only time the driver slowed down was when he was texting, which I guess is some sort of blessing…

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